


Torture, One Less Time

by Gadhar



Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:07:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1859154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gadhar/pseuds/Gadhar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wintergreen has rarely seen the man sleep a full night. And they often find themselves repeating this discussion, over and over. It's painful and dangerous but ti's one William will repeat until his lips fall off if that's what it takes to get Slade to listen and believe him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Torture, One Less Time

**Author's Note:**

> Strictly based off the Deathstroke comic run in the 90's. That good ol' Marv Wolfman stuff. :)  
> Slade and William just have some serious like angsty bromance half the time, especially in those early issues with Slade's self-destructive tendencies. So yeah. 
> 
> I will say I'm not an expert on Slade, and while my knowledge of him covers a wide berth, it is not as in depth as I'd like.S so some events, like those surrounding Jericho's death are sketchy to me but I do know Slade is walking mountain of guilt over his family's misfortunes and it weighs him down majorly.
> 
> Not beta'd. I wrote it way back and have edited it multiple times since, but ti's been awhile since I last checked it over so, mistakes probably a'plenty.

“Slade, sit down.”

Slade shot Wintergreen a withering look, his shoulders high and tense, fingers twitching against his leg. He looked indignant; bothered.

“Please.”

Slade huffed but joined him on the sofa, pressing against the far arm and crossing his legs. Wintergreen tutted, curling his hand around the back of Slade's neck and tugging slightly. Slade narrowed his eyes, lips setting into a grim pout but went willingly enough. Wintergreen pulled him close and, after a moment, Slade brought up his legs and rested his head against Wintergreen's shoulder, leaning into the light touch of fingers through his hair.

Wintergreen didn't have to raise any questions to prompt Slade to talk, the man was more liable to lash out that way. Instead he did what he knew as he carded his fingers through Slade's hair- a scratch behind the ear there, a rub above the temple here, slight caress along the face there and the offer of a warm embrace generally had Slade talking until he was blue in the face; a rare sight on a man of few words.

It took longer this time, Wintergreen noted. Longer to bring Slade back to him in the world of the living; to get him talking and communicating; to see him breathe easy after pushing back the demons. So long in fact, Wintergreen had thought the man had drifted off to sleep when he finally spoke, his words heavy but simple.

“I killed him.”

“Yes.” Wintergreen agreed, it wasn't a lie and he wasn't being cruel, it was just fact. And judging by the way Slade sunk lower against his side, he appreciated it. “But it was needed.”

Slade's breath halted at that, but not enough, or in a way, to make Wintergreen concerned- they'd had this discussion before, quite often really; and no matter how many times he told Slade he was more than willingly to tell the man again, even though it pained him to watch Slade torture himself repeatedly.

“I'm not so sure.” Slade said, and that- that's new, different. Wintergreen's not sure he has a response to that. “What if I hadn't? The Titans probably could have handled it, gotten him help.”

This was uncharted territory for him, dangerous. Slade was rarely vulnerable but now was one of those few times that he was and Wintergreen didn't intend to threaten him, didn't intend to hurt him or send him spiraling into isolation. He'd let that happen far too often already.

“At what cost?” Wintergreen spoke slowly, letting his words sink in. He shifted to bring his legs onto the couch, Slade settling in between them and leaning heavily against his chest. One hand sifted through Slade's hair while the other rested over Slade's heart, feeling it thrum beneath his fingers. “Tell me Slade, see this in your mind. You abandon the fight, leave the Titans to fight Jericho. How many would die? Even if his friends could save him, get him help. Do you really think Joe could bear the guilt of those deaths? Could you? Could you bear such guilt having put that burden on your son?”

“I-”

“I know you Slade you wouldn't dare let that happen. You've made mistakes with Joe, a parent always does with a child. But you were there, in most cases, where it counted. And in this instance, you did right by him.”

“Wintergreen, I killed him.”

Ah, back to familiar territory.

“You killed Jericho. Joe suffered not, he was dead before and you know it. Stop torturing yourself...”

Slade said nothing, just turned his face into Wintergreen's chest.

Wintergreen curled around him, dragging him close and letting Slade feel his warmth, hear his heartbeat. “One who makes the right decisions, decisions of such magnitude- there is no assurance in that, no confidence that they feel. You had two decisions, had you made the other one you would not be plagued at night by these memories, you would not be pained. You'd be a dead man walking, a shell. Such decisions lead to only two routes, that of life and that of death, death of soul. You are on the far more painful path, the one far darker, but also the one more full of life. Had you not made that decision you'd be a man of wrong, you'd not be alive. You'd not be here with me.”

It was quiet for a while and Wintergreen held his breath, Slade fixing him with a pointed glare that he could not read. Wintergreen didn't breathe again until Slade pulled his head down to meet his lips.

Wintergreen often thought of how odd Slade tasted. How his kisses, his tongue, his lips, felt. Slade was hard, sharp edged and angular, every movement he made towards Wintergreen was the opposite- kisses, slow and tender, tongue, smooth and languish, lips, soft and pliant against his own. It was sweet, light, and almost airy on his tongue, addictive. A flavor with all round edges that he rolled around his mouth and savored.

Slade pulled away from him slightly, face smooth and free of lines, his eyes unnaturally clear with thin films of water around the edges, remnants of tears unshed. “You write that stuff down and practice it in front of a mirror?”

“That good eh?”

“I swear you're a damn poet, wasting your time with those blasted memoirs,” Slade breathed against his lips before sealing them together again.

Wintergreen smiled, maybe this meant one less time he'd have to tell Slade, remind him of life.

One less time, maybe, but still a time Wintergreen would take no matter what.


End file.
